


You've Become My Favourite Sin

by TheDirtyBirdie-Archive (TheDirtyBirdie)



Series: Don't You Know I Ain't Fucking with Them Good Boys [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Bottom!Peter, Cock Worship, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Face-Fucking, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Rimming, Shower Sex, Underage Sex, Vaguely Canon-Adjacent, painal, top!wade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 04:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13732923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDirtyBirdie/pseuds/TheDirtyBirdie-Archive
Summary: If asked, Peter would say that about eighty-seven percent of the time, Wade is a much, much better man than people give him credit for. Than he gives himself credit for, even. The other thirteen percent, well, the jury’s still out, but Peter has a sneaking suspicion that he’s going to figure it out sooner than later.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **PAY ATTENTION TO THE TAGS**  
>  Please, seriously, read the tags. I didn't use archive warnings because none fit perfectly, but trust me, this warrants MANY warnings.
> 
> **PLEASE NOTE:** There are no safe-words used in this story. It is _extremely dub/non-con_ , and not at all how anyone should _ever_ practice these kinks in real life.
> 
> When I wrote this I was mainly just picturing a weird mental amalgamation of all the different iterations of Wade & Peter, so picture whichever you like best. As a result, it's also vaguely canon-adjacent, at best. Peter is 17, Wade is somewhere in his 30s, making this [barely legal](http://www.kurthahnschool.org/compass/the-age-of-consent-new-york-statutory-rape-laws/) in the state of New York.
> 
> Title is from Bad Decisions by Ariana Grande, because a bad decision is exactly what I am making right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **22/02/2018 23:30 EST:** significant revisions made to the first three sections of the chapter

 

Peter has a plan.

Today is his seventeenth birthday. In a year, he’ll be eighteen. An adult. A fully fledged, human, adult person. Now, Peter is already pretty much there when you look at it on paper. He’s in university, has been for a while, he lives on his own in an apartment Tony Stark rented for him when last semester started, insisting that it was just plain unreasonable to keep commuting from Queens every day as his workload got heavier and pointing out the (admittedly valid) fact that it was just going to keep getting harder to hide his work as Spider-Man from May.

When Peter tried to protest that he wasn't into taking Tony's charity, on top of all the help he'd already given/pushed on him, he'd insisted that it was part of the ‘scholarship’ (i.e. pet project fund) that Tony was providing him. It was definitely all bullshit, but it was, at least, well-intentioned bullshit, and some days even Peter didn’t have the energy to argue with Tony.

Not to mention, his own apartment, at sixteen, in Manhattan? Well, it’s entirely possible that Peter didn’t protest quite as hard as he could have. It wasn’t anything glamorous, just an old, run-down (for Manhattan) studio, but it was more than he’d ever have come close to on his own.

Point is, for as little as it will actually change anything, Peter will officially be an adult next year. And, if he keeps going the way he’s been going, an adult virgin. Peter is definitely not into that. So, he needs to change things, and he knows exactly who has the perfect ratio of dubious morals to broad shoulders (which have an unfortunate habit of distracting him during patrols) necessary to make that change happen.

He’s going to get Deadpool into his apartment- which, yeah, he’s fully aware of how terrible an idea that might (definitely) be, but he likes the guy. He trusts him. He wouldn’t call him stable, by any stretch of the imagination, but he feels more safe around him than he does around Fury, at any rate. That has to count for something, right? So, he’s going to bring him home, and once he’s there, he’s just going to… go for it.

Peter never claimed it was an intricate plan.

* * *

* * *

Deadpool has never made any secret of finding Peter attractive. They’ve only been running into each other for a few months, patrolling together for less, and Peter has lost count of the number of lewd comments the man has made about his ass. Peter has been all too grateful for his mask, since he’s pretty sure Deadpool just talks like that to everyone and he doesn’t exactly need the embarrassment that would come with him seeing Peter flush red every time he starts telling him what a smackable ass he has. Or how cute he is when he’s angry. Or scared. Or happy. Or...anything, really. 

Point is, Peter’s pretty sure Deadpool flirts with everyone, but he’s also pretty sure he flirts extra hard with him, and seems to even go out of his way to find him on the non-patrol nights that they still manage to run into each other. It's not like he's seen Deadpool with his friends, if he even _has_ any friends- it's hard to picture, but he definitely makes the merc laugh more than anyone else he's seen him interact with. Wade has also made Peter laugh more than anyone else has in a long, long time. Maybe since Gwen. It's no small thing and he tries not to think too hard on that.

So, yeah. He’s kind of banking on the hope that Deadpool wouldn’t be spending this much time around him without at least a little ulterior motive. 

* * *

* * *

Unbeknownst to Deadpool, the rooftop which they’re currently dangling their feet off of, while they make their way through the ice-cream cones they got down the block, happens to be Peter’s apartment building. He’s listening to Deadpool babble on proudly about some people he decided to _not_ kill last week, and the fact that he has not, in fact, killed anyone since their patrols together started. A direct result of Peter’s encouragement, he says, making something go warm and gooey in Peter's chest, and he decides that now is the perfect opportunity to seize the moment.

“Hey.” He interrupts, and Deadpool stops his stream of one-sided conversation to look at him, curious. “My name's Peter Parker.” No going back now.  
"Peter Parker?!" Wade exclaims. "The kid who works for the bugle? The very same bugle that spends half its energy skewering Spider-Man six ways to Sunday, all day, every day? What-Why are you even-"  
“We're actually sitting on my apartment building right now.” Peter interrupts. He's come to enjoy Deadpool's incessant rambling, but he's got a goal in mind and he's not letting Wade's freight train of thoughts get in the way of it now that he's come this far. "You wanna come inside?" 

He's expecting an immediate and obvious 'that's what she said' joke, but for a moment, Deadpool seems to be, quite literally, stunned into silence. His jaw has dropped and Peter isn’t entirely sure it’s not done at least in part for comedic effect, but it makes him smile, either way. 

“Spidey! Baby, you wanna show me your apartment?! You’re-” He cuts himself off, pointedly looking at Peter as though he may just be the dumbest man alive. “You want me to know where you live?” He's clearly aiming for an audible eye roll, one of the few things his mask can't quite convey, but there's an undertone so sincerely bewildered that it breaks Peter’s heart, just a little.

He tries not to let it show, Deadpool definitely isn't the type to hide from most displays of emotion, but he doesn't like to be pitied, and though that's not what Peter's feeling for him, he's pretty sure the merc would take it that way, regardless. He rolls his eyes and shrugs a shoulder, aiming for casual when he reaches out to grip Deadpool's shoulder. “We’re friends. I'm like, ninety-eight percent sure you aren't going to come kill me in my sleep if I show you where I live.” Peter's grinning under his mask when he gets to his feet. 

"What about the other two percent?!" Deadpool is shouting after him when he hops off the edge of the roof. By the time he's swung into his open apartment window, he can hear the merc clambering down the fire escape, jumping, by the sounds of it, and yammering excitedly all the way down.

* * *

* * *

Now that Peter actually has Deadpool here, in his apartment, in the flesh, and deposited comfortably on Peter’s cheap couch, he can’t get his heart to leave his throat. It seems the majority of his confidence deserted him once they actually got inside, and he realized it was now or never. He excused himself and pretty much ran to the bathroom, where he is currently doing his best not to hyperventilate, and reminding himself that what’s done is done now. Deadpool is still super hot, so even if he’s made a terrible mistake, he might as well get sex out of it. 

He yanks the mask off his head, tosses it to the side, and stares himself down in the mirror for a moment to steel his nerves. As soon as he’s gathered the courage, he yanks the bathroom door open.  

He doesn’t give himself a chance to chicken out, he goes straight to where Deadpool is leant back on the sofa and kneels on the floor, right between his spread legs, without looking up. Taking a deep breath he brings his hands up to rest lightly on Deadpool’s knees, fingers brushing tentatively upwards, and feels Deadpool stiffen immediately under his hands. When he looks up, rolling a lip between his teeth to soothe his nerves, Deadpool is frozen, eyes pinned on Peter like they’re trying to burn a hole right through him.

“It’s my birthday today.”

“You don’t say.” Deadpool replies faintly. Peter nods, grinning, pulling confidence from the fact that he's managed to stun Deadpool into relative silence twice already. A rare feat.

“I’m seventeen, you know?” Deadpool makes a low sound, Peter licks his lips. “Not a kid anymore.” The breath comes out of Deadpool like he’s been gutpunched, and he murmurs something Peter can’t quite catch under his breath. When he says nothing else, Peter lets his hands creep further up the older man’s thighs.

“Please.” He begs, somewhat surprised to hear it come out so close to a whine. “Please, Deadpool, I know what I want for my birthday.”

Deadpool chokes out a laugh, humourless.

“You think so, baby boy?” Deadpool asks, but, somehow, it doesn’t sound like a question he’s really meant to answer.

For a long moment, Deadpool just stares, gaze so intense it keeps Peter pinned in place.

Eventually, he breaks his silence.

“Alright.” Deadpool grins slowly and Peter feels a matching expression spread across his own face before excited hands begin to slip up Deadpool’s thighs. Suddenly, gloved fingers thread through his hair and pull, hard, jerking him backwards and forcing a stop to his movements. He looks up at Deadpool, whose grin has taken on a definitively darker edge, confused.

“You want it so bad, baby boy?” He growls. “Then convince me, because I’m not entirely sure you know what you’re asking for.”

For a moment, Peter says nothing, does nothing, simply stares up at Deadpool with wide eyes, unsure how to proceed. It’s obvious Deadpool wants him to talk dirty, and the thought makes his face flush a deep, deep crimson, but it’s not just that, is it? Peter can feel it, he doesn’t just want filthy words, he really, really wants to know how bad Peter wants this. Wants to feel it. To know he wants it bad enough that he’ll take whatever Deadpool gives him, whether he saw it coming or not.

And it’s a bad idea, it’s a very, very bad idea, but the idea that Deadpool wants him. Wants to do things to him so badly that he’s currently burning a hole through his mask with the force of his stare, that’s fucking intoxicating, and Peter will do anything to keep Deadpool wanting him that bad.

“Please,” He starts again, letting the desperation he’d been trying to hide under bravado creep into his voice. “Please, fuck, please, I want it so bad. I don’t care what you want to do to me-” Deadpool’s grip tightens, just a fraction. “Just tell me and I’ll do it. I swear, just fucking please, let me- let me-” He stutters, unable to get the last words out.

“Let you what, baby boy? I can’t let you do anything if you can’t tell me what you want, now can I?” Deadpool prompts, his words are kind and his voice is softer than before, but his fingers curl tighter in his hair, a sharp pain lancing down across his scalp. Peter takes a deep breath, tears of pain and humiliation and desperate desire beginning to sting at his eyes.

“Let me suck your cock.” He begs. “Please.” His voice cracks. “I _need_ it.” He lets himself stretch out the word, making sure Deadpool can hear just how badly he needs it.

That seems to break his resolve, finally. Deadpool yanks him forward, hard enough that he almost topples over into his lap, and reclines a little more, shoving his crotch pointedly towards Peter’s face.

“Get to work, baby boy.”

Peter does.

He tries his best to keep his hands steady as he reaches up to undo Deadpool’s belt, his fingers still slip a few times before he manages to unclasp it, allowing his suit pants to slip loose, but he suspects that the older man doesn’t mind too much, seeing evidence of how frantic Peter is for this. Finally, Deadpool’s cock springs free. It’s thick, long, and heavy. Peter can smell the heady musk of the other man already. He’s taken off guard, and almost a little humiliated, by the way it makes his mouth water. He only has a moment to process that before a sudden wave of panic grips his heart.

Because fuck, what is he even doing right now? He’s never touched anyone like this, never been touched like this, and now he’s on his dirty floor, begging Deadpool, fucking **_Deadpool_ ** , to shove his cock in his mouth. Seriously, it occurs to him he doesn’t even know the man’s name, not to mention how he’s sure that he’s at least ten years his senior, _not to mention_  how he murders people for a living, and seems to delight in it.

Fuck.

Before he can spiral any further, he’s pulled from his thoughts by a strong hand gripping his jaw, working it open.

“Hope you like what you see, sweetheart.” Deadpool croons. “Cause’ it’s too late to back out now.” A shiver of mixed fear and arousal travels down his spine. Deadpool tells him to keep his hands on his knees, in a voice that tells him he won’t like what happens if he moves them, then he’s pulled forward again, mouth held open, until the tip of the older man’s cock is just barely able to ghost across his bottom lip. Deadpool says nothing, and, unsure what to do, Peter pokes out his tongue just enough to taste the tip of it.

Deadpool groans. “Good boy.” His heart is still pounding in his chest, but the words make Peter shiver enough that he does it again, getting used to the salty taste of the other man’s skin. It’s not good, exactly, but he finds he likes it. He tries to tongue the slit, where he knows his own cock tends to extra sensitive, hoping Deadpool is the same. The other man wastes no time, letting him know his guess was right.

“Baby, I was starting to worry you were gonna disappoint me, after all that. Prove me right, prove you didn’t want this as bad as you thought you did, but look at you, you’re just as desperate as ever, aren’t you?” Arousal courses through Peter’s body at the praise, chasing away any lingering fear, and he stretches his tongue out further, trying to circle the head of the cock in front of him while he lets out a whine, pulling against the hand in his hair as he tries to get closer. Get more.

“Oh baby, baby. Baby boy.” Deadpool croons. The hand holding his jaw slips into a soft caress across his cheek. The other pulls him back slightly, just out of reach. “You ever done this before?” He demands, almost threatening. Peter shakes his head, feeling too flustered for words. “You ever done _anything_ before?” Peter feels more heat creeping into his cheeks as he sheepishly shakes his head again.

“Good.” Deadpool growls, and the possessive timbre of his voice shoots straight through Peter’s cock. The hand gripping his hair loosens and he takes it as permission. Leaning forward to finally, finally suckle at the head of his cock. He’s not sure what he’s doing, really, but he tries his best to make it good. He swirls his tongue around the head experimentally, running his tongue around the thick vein on the underside, trying to slip his mouth down as far as it will go as he does. He knows he’s drooling, it’s impossible not to, just like it’s impossible to tune out all of the wet, messy slurping noises he can’t help making. It feels dirty and humiliating and he loves it down to his bones. When he tries to push forward again and has to pull off of Deadpool’s cock entirely, gagging, fingers tighten around his jaw again.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that, baby boy.” The tone is warm, but the threat can’t be missed. This should be bad. This should be really, really bad, but Peter just wants to do better for him. “We’re gonna try doing this my way, alright sweetheart?” Deadpool doesn’t wait for an affirmative before shoving his cock into Peter’s mouth and down his throat.

Immediately, tears begin to fall from his eyes as he chokes and gags, throat trying desperately to swallow around the intrusion. Deadpool pulls back and Peter barely has time to gasp for air before his throat is stuffed with cock again. His hands have both migrated to grip Peter’s skull and this time he takes a moment to grind up into his face, crushing Peter’s nose into the nest of curls at the base of his cock.

When he pulls back again, Peter sucks in as much air as he can, then Deadpool begins to fuck his face in earnest. Long, slow, deep strokes. Peter’s throat aches with the stretch of his cock every time it sinks down so far he can’t breathe. Peter does his best to suppress the urge to gag, though it doesn’t always work. He coughs and gurgles around the cock in his throat, but he never tries to stop him. Some distant part of him wonders if something is wrong with this, wrong with the fact that his head is swimming and he can barely breathe, and yet his cock is leaking desperately in his suit.

When one of Deadpool’s hands comes down to grip his throat his pulse skyrockets, but he still doesn’t try to pull off of the other man’s cock. And, seriously, he and his common sense are going to have words later on, provided Deadpool doesn’t just take the opportunity to choke him to death with his cock in his mouth beforehand.

But that’s not what happens at all. Rather than tightening around his throat, Deadpool is... massaging it, almost. It takes him a moment to understand what’s happening, but when he realizes that Deadpool is massaging his cock _through_ his throat, a low moan rips its way out of his chest.

“Ahh, fuck, baby boy. Do that some more.”

Peter listens. Moaning as filthily and frequently as he can, sending vibrations through the other man’s cock. Fuck. Deadpool keeps up a near constant babble of praise, and it makes him ache.

“You look so fucking pretty around my cock, Petey, baby, you have no idea. Like you were made for this. Made for me. See how well I fit in that smart mouth of yours, baby boy? Like you were born to be a cocksleeve. My cocksleeve.”

Peter can’t help the whimper that escapes him. Deadpool grins.

“You like that, huh? Of course you do, look at you. Fuck, Petey, I wish you could see yourself. Actually, that’s a great idea!” He exclaims, stilling his hands and his hips, cock still stuck down Peter’s throat. One hand holds him there, gripping his hair, tight as always, while the other slips off his throat. Deadpool is murmuring to himself while Peter sits between his legs, gurgling around his cock and trying his best not to choke as his lungs burn for air.

He stays that way, not like he has much choice, wondering what Deadpool is even doing, until he hears the telltale shutter sound of a phone camera. Finally, he’s allowed to pull back enough to breathe around Deadpool’s cock, and his face burns with the humiliating knowledge that Deadpool now has a picture of this.

Really, he should be worried. He should be freaking out. Deadpool isn’t exactly known for his confidentiality when it comes to information other heroes are foolish enough to give him, more than willing to give it to someone for the right price, and he now has not only Peter’s face, name, and address, which was already pretty fucking inadvisable, but a picture of his cock stuffed down Peter’s throat, which. Well. That’s just astronomically bad. There isn’t even a word for how bad that is.

Deadpool pulls him off his cock completely, startling Peter as he reflexively gasps for his first full breath of air in who knows how long, interrupting his thoughts, and holds the phone in front of him.

Shit. Shit, he’s a mess. He can barely bring himself to look at the photo, but it feels equally impossible to look away. His lips are stretched impossibly tight around Deadpool’s cock, he’s got drool and come running down his chin, tears spilling from unfocused eyes, face flushed red. He looks desperate, he looks _used_. It feels so utterly filthy to see himself like that, he’s not even going to let himself consider why he likes it. That’s a freak out best saved for later.

“See how pretty you look, baby boy?” Deadpool gushes. “See how you were made for this? Made for me?” He asks darkly. It takes Peter a moment to realize he’s waiting for an answer, but when he does he tears his eyes off the phone in front of him to look up at Deadpool, still in his mask.

“Yes.” He chokes out, his voice is more hoarse than it’s ever been, and his throat screams in protest when he speaks. “Made for you.” He manages. Deadpool’s grin widens and he releases his rough grip on Peter’s hair. Peter sags with relief, but a part of him misses the rough touch. Deadpool runs his hand gently through his hair, fingers massaging carefully into the back of his neck before repeating the motion.

“How about we have a little photoshoot before you finish me off, sweetums. Is that something you’d like?” Something in Peter’s gut tells him it’s happening either way, but he can’t tamp down the desire to please the older man.

“Yes.” He smiles up at him with lips still slick with drool and come. “Yes, please. I’d like that very much.” 

“That’s my baby boy.” Deadpool smiles down at him in return, and Peter’s chest fills with warmth at the praise. “Come here.” He gently tugs Peter forward, until he’s right in front of him so deadpool can hold his cock against his face. He can feel it leaking over his hairline, probably smearing come into his hair, and the thought makes him shiver.

“Alright, sweetheart, big smile.” Deadpool says, voice sickly-sweet, drawing his attention up to the phone he’s now got pointed down in Peter’s direction. Some part of him, deep, deep down is repulsed with himself, but Peter smiles, and finds that he doesn’t even have to fake it.

“Ohh,” Deadpool groans happily, “That’s beautiful, Petey. Fucking beautiful. Better than I ever even imagined. And I did imagine.” He winks. “A lot.” He takes a few more pictures like that, before instructing him to pull back a little so the older man can rub his cock over his lips.

When he smears pre-come across them, Peter can’t stop his tongue from flicking out to grab a taste and a deep sound rumbles out of the other man from deep inside his chest. It seems like a good sign, so Peter runs with it. Nuzzling up against his cock as Deadpool trails it over his face, kissing the head, the underside, when he gets the chance. Suckling and licking at it occasionally. All while doing his best to keep staring up at the camera through his lashes.

Eventually, Deadpool gets a little rougher, smacking Peter in the face with his cock repeatedly, shoving it into his mouth and stuffing it into one of his cheeks so he can smack him there, just enough to redden his cheeks and leave a sting, before pulling out again to smear come across his cheeks. Peter moans through it all, shame mostly forgotten.  

He’s enjoying it enough that it takes him a few minutes to realize he doesn’t hear the shutter of the camera anymore, even though it’s still pointed in his direction. New shame washes over him when he realizes that’s because Deadpool is probably taking a video. Capturing every wet, sloppy noise, every moan, everything. Fuck.

Deadpool grins as he sees the shameful realization on his face. “Don’t worry, baby boy. I’ll share it with you later!” He promises, gleefully. Just the promise of later, of more of this, is enough to draw a moan from Peter. Deadpool laughs, and finally tucks away his phone.

“Alright, Petey, let’s get back to it, shall we?” Peter nods enthusiastically. “Yes, please.” He expects Deadpool to shove his cock back down his throat, but instead the older man reclines a little further back on Peter’s couch, arms crossed lazily behind his head, and leaves his cock to bob in Peter’s face.

“Don’t make me do all the work, sweetheart.” His words are mostly teasing, but there’s a threat there that Peter doesn’t miss, and it makes heat coil in his gut. He almost moves his hands in his haste to work Deadpool’s cock, but remembers the other man’s words last second and ends up clumsily half-falling into his cock. Deadpool laughs as Peter tries to make up for it by nuzzling into the base while he rights himself.

As soon as he’s regained his balance he begins to messily lick and kiss his way up the underside of Deadpool’s cock. He’s found that he loves the heavy weight of it against his face, against his tongue, hopefully, some time soon, inside of him. Peter moans with the thought just as he reaches the head. He gives it a wet, tongue filled kiss while he smiles up at Deadpool before breathing in deep and forcing himself all the way down.

He’s still not used to it when the heavy mass of the other man’s cock slides down the back of his throat, it almost hurts more, now that he’s had a few moments to rest, but he wants this. He wants it so fucking bad, he forces himself not to gag and moans as deep as he can around the cock cutting off his air supply, wanting to make Deadpool feel as good as he can, despite his inexperience. He pulls off and goes down a few more times, moaning deeply each time, before he decides to try something new.

He pulls off, making sure to keep his mouth on Deadpool’s cock the whole time, still messy kisses and licks and sucks all the way down, before he reaches the base of his cock and gently sucks one of his balls into his mouth.

“Petey,” Deadpool groans as Peter lets go to mouth carefully at his sack. “Petey, baby, you are perfect. Do you know that?” A hand comes down to brush across his scalp and Peter preens under the touch, doing his best to fit both of Deadpool’s balls into his mouth while keeping it gentle enough to be pleasurable. He manages, and when he moans he can feel them getting considerably tighter in his mouth.

“That’s it, baby boy.” Deadpool says, pulling him off and back by the hair. Peter whines, but the older man just shushes him gently as he pumps his hand over his own cock. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Just lean back and open your mouth.” Peter does as he’s told, feeling strangely excited, pleased with himself because he knows Deadpool is about to come, and he did that. Deadpool lines up his cock so that he’s jerking off with the tip bobbing against Peter’s tongue.

“Don’t let a drop touch the ground.” He warns. “Or else you’ll be licking it up.” Peter can’t move his mouth, or nod, for fear of dislodging the cock in front of his mouth, so he just hums his assent, hoping it sounds as eager as it feels.

“Good boy.” Says Deadpool, and then he’s coming. The first spurt is just enough of a surprise that Peter can’t help a small jerk backwards, resulting in it landing across his cheeks, he prays none missed his face. He quickly moves his mouth back, letting Deadpool paint his tongue and the back of his throat. Deadpool groans as he milks the last of it from his cock, and when he begins to relax, Peter tentatively leans forward to suckle gently at the tip of him, getting every last drop.

Deadpool moans, so Peter pushes a little further, licking down the sides of his cock to clean him off, all the while Deadpool stares down at him, one hand petting through his hair.

“Look at you, baby boy. Not letting a single drop go to waste, are you?”

“No.” Peter murmurs gently against his cock.

Eventually he leans back, licking come off his lips and unsure what to do about the come he can feel slowly trailing down his cheek. He’s not certain he’s allowed to wipe it off just yet, and can’t help wondering how long Deadpool’s threat about not letting any touch the ground is in effect, as it’s getting perilously close to his jawline.

Before he can worry much more, Deadpool reaches out to caress his face, rubbing his come into the skin of Peter’s cheek.

All at once, Peter is hit with the force of his own arousal. The steady ache in his gut that had fallen away from his mind at some point, he was so lost in what he was doing. His fingers ball into fists against his knees and he can’t stop himself from begging. He realizes that at some point here he lost his dignity, and while he’s not too worried about it at the moment, he figures it was probably somewhere between the first ‘please’ and Deadpool pulling out his phone.

“Please, D-Deadpool.” He stutters out. The combined ache of his throat and force of arousal clouding his brain is enough that it’s hard to even get the words out. Hard to even know what, exactly, he’s asking for.

“We’ve been over this, Petey.” Deadpool’s voice is coloured with affectionate exasperation. “You’ve gotta use your words. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?” Peter chokes out something like a laugh, it feels like a million years ago that they’d last had that particular well worn argument, but it can’t have been more than a couple hours. “And I can’t give you what you need if you don’t tell me.”

“I need to come.” Peter sobs out.  
“Ahh.” Deadpool grins. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Peter shakes his head feebly. “Now, baby boy, you’ve been so good, I think you do deserve to come.” Deadpool pats his knee and Peter scrambles up to straddle his legs. Before he can do much else he feels a sharp pull, there’s a god-awful tearing sound, and then most of his suit is lying to the side of him in tatters.

Mr. Stark is going to be so, so pissed, and fuck if Peter has a clue how he’s going to explain it to him. Before he can fall too deep into that particular well of worry, he’s distracted by Deadpool’s hands- his bare hands, Peter notices with a start, he’s really not sure when that happened, running reverently over his skin. It makes Peter shiver and squirm, goosebumps rising all across his body, and he can’t help the whine that escapes him because Deadpool is putting his hands everywhere but where he needs them be.

Deadpool lets out a low laugh, before he’s lifting Peter- which, fuck, he lifts Peter like he’s nothing at all and Peter almost cries with how hot it gets him to be manhandled like this- before depositing him on the couch lengthwise, all spread out while Deadpool kneels between his legs, forcing them to stay open. He whistles.

“Baby boy, aren’t you just a fucking beauty.” Peter flushes down to his chest as he becomes fully, presently aware that he’s currently splayed out entirely naked, hard as a rock with come on his face, while Deadpool is still covered from head to toe, with the exception of his hands and his cock. Which, come to think of it, feels almost just as obscene, in a way, but far less exposed.

“Please, Deadpool.” He tries, desperately, to be covered, or touched, or anything. The anticipation of the older man just staring at him, lightly running his hands over Peter’s thighs is killing him.

“Hmm, I think it’s about time you started calling me Wade, don’t you.” Peter can’t help the grin that overtakes his face at being given Deadpool-no, Wade’s name, finally.

“Wade.” He rolls the name over in his mouth, testing it out, and the other man’s hands come up to grip his ass, firm.

“Ooh, baby boy, I love it when you say my name.” Peter grins, moaning and grinding down into Wade’s strong grip.

“Wade. Wade, please. Please make me come. I need it, Wade. Please.” He begs. He’s moaning and writhing and he knows how he must look, but he’s so hard it hurts and that puts him well past the point of caring.

“Alright, baby boy.” Wade says, leaning forward and over Peter. His leg presses down against Peter’s cock and he cries out at the feel of it dragging against the rough texture of Wade’s uniform. He expects the other man to cover him completely, but he stops there, bracing himself halfway over Peter, one hand on his thigh and the other on the couch next to him, leg pressed against his cock. He doesn’t move.

“What-why-” Peter stammers, dazed, through the fog of his arousal. He’s tangentially aware that he’s rutting up against Wade’s leg, but he can’t seem to stop.

“Shh, shh, shh.” Wade soothes. “You’ve got it baby boy, just keep going.” And, fuck. A new wave of humiliation washes over Peter when he gets it. Wade’s not going to put his hands on him, he’s not even going to get to put his hands on himself. He’s just going to have to rut up against Wade’s leg like a dog until he comes. New tears spill as he gasps, but he just can’t seem to stop himself. Can’t even find it in himself to want to, as he continues pushing desperately up against the solid muscle of Wade’s thigh. The older man just keeps babbling soft words of praise and encouragement and it’s-shit-it’s just too much. Peter tenses up and his orgasm finally rips through him hard enough to make him shake, he comes across Wade’s uniform and his own stomach embarrassingly quickly.

Before he’s even entirely back to earth Wade kisses him. He’d been too caught up in his orgasm to even notice him pulling his mask up over his nose or dropping down low, but Wade kisses him, languid and deep and all-consuming and Peter reaches up to wrap his arms around his neck, moaning into it and riding out the last of his orgasm against his thigh until he’s painfully oversensitive against Wade’s suit, but unwilling to move away.

His legs have come up to wrap around Wade and he’s not entirely sure he’s ever going to be willing to let go. Wade kisses down his neck, sucking and biting and without a doubt leaving bruises that are going to be impossible to miss. It makes Wade’s words, calling Peter _his_ baby boy or, fuck, even _his_ cocksleeve ring in his head, a hot feeling curling deep in his belly at the thought of what it might mean to be Wade’s. To really belong to him.

“Hey, Wade?”

“Hm?” Wade replies, marking his way across Peter’s collar.

“I’m..I mean-virginity is totally a construct and definitely, ultimately meaningless and subjective but-” Peter sucks in a breath as he can feel Wade go still against him. “But...I’m still a virgin, technically, and I don’t think I ever totally finished telling you what I wanted for my birthday.” He finishes, hopeful.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, **please read the tags** , if you already read the first chapter yesterday, new tags have been added for this one.
> 
> Alright, it's 2:55 in the morning, I've just finished this, and ~~you're getting it as-is, raw as hell, farm to table. I promise I'll do some revision to tighten things up and catch any errors or formatting issues tomorrow, but for now,~~ _(revision complete)_ I'm going to sleep.
> 
> This starts immediately following the last chapter.

Wade pulls himself up, leaving just enough space between them to run a hand up Peter’s torso, smearing his now-cool come across his skin until he reaches the base of his throat and rubs it into the dip there. Peter apparently still has enough instinct left that his heart rate picks up when Wade’s fingers keep dragging over his windpipe, but instead of fighting it, he simply tips his head back and lets himself enjoy the thrill that comes with the knowledge that, if he wanted to, there’s every chance that Wade could put him down right this second.

Something about the surrender of power is so intoxicating, Peter can’t stop himself from tightening his legs around Wade’s hips, rubbing up against the older man, despite his almost painful oversensitivity. 

“Oh, Petey.” Wade sighs. “I can’t believe I doubted you, baby. You just can’t get enough, can you?” Peter grins up at him.  
“You haven’t even fucked me properly, yet, how could I?” He raises a brow, something a little challenging to the expression, and Wade laughs.  
“Oh, sweetheart. Just you wait.” When he pulls away to lean back, Peter gets excited, assuming Wade’s going to get on with it, but instead the other man stands and wastes no time yanking Peter up from the couch and tossing him over his shoulder.  
“What-Wade?! Put me down!” Peter squirms and gets a sharp pinch to the ass for his efforts.  
“Careful,” Wade warns. “You aren’t the one giving orders here, sweetcheeks. Remember that.” A shiver travels down Peter’s spine at the threat laced through the words and Peter lets himself go limp over Wade’s shoulder.

 Once Wade reaches the bathroom, he places Peter down carefully on his feet and instructs him to turn on the shower. Peter does as he’s told, leaving the water to begin warming up, but when he moves to turn back a strong hand grips the back of his neck to stop him from going anywhere.

“Stay right there, baby boy. No peeking.” Peter shuts his eyes tight as Wade drags his hand down Peter’s back, pushing down on the dip of it hard enough that he’s forced to arch in a way that puts his ass on full display for Wade, leaving him feeling incredibly overexposed, but despite the heat rising to his cheeks, he’s careful to hold the position once Wade moves his hand away, gripping the side of the tub to keep his balance.

He hears Wade’s utility belt hitting the ground behind him and he moans in anticipation, listening carefully as Wade shucks the rest of his suit, cock already beginning to twitch back to life with the anticipation of all the skin to skin contact he hopes will be happening in the immediate future. He knows Wade isn’t exactly the most forthcoming about his scars, so he won’t look unless he gets permission, but, frankly, if Wade wants to fuck him with his eyes closed the entire time, well. It’s not ideal, but as long as he gets to have Wade inside of him, he’s not going to complain. 

Once Wade finishes removing his uniform, he wastes no time running his hands up the backs of Peter’s thighs to knead at his ass, gripping and squeezing so tight it hurts. Even with his own not inconsiderable healing factor, Peter’s pretty sure that Wade will manage to leave bruises. Shivers break out all across his body.  
“Fuck, baby boy. You have no idea, _no idea_ how badly I’ve wanted to get all up on this perfect little ass.” Peter huffs out a laugh. “I think I have some idea, actually. You didn’t exactly make a secret of it.” Wade hums his agreement happily behind Peter as he slides his thumbs up into the cleft of Peter’s ass and spreads him as wide as he’ll go. It’s-shit, it’s incredible how just when he thinks there’s nothing left that Wade could do to make him burn with shame, he finds a way.

Wade leans forward to nip at the meat of Peter’s ass and his knees go weak. “Oh, baby.” Wade moans as he nips his way down the cleft. “I am gonna _wreck_ this pretty little ass of yours.” He emphasizes his words with a long lick right over Peter’s hole, making Peter cry out humiliatingly loud, body jerking forward, but unable to actually get anywhere with the other man’s grip holding him back, and punctuates it by biting down, hard. It should feel fucking ridiculous, Peter thinks, hearing those words. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t at all. The promise in Wade’s voice makes him shake, because he knows it’s true. Wade is going to wreck him.

He pulls Peter in closer and licks him from his balls to the small of his back, placing little nips and open mouth kisses to his skin along the way, digging his fingers into the flesh of Peter’s cheeks. He tongues at Peter’s hole hard enough to make him squirm desperately above him at the new feeling. His arms are shaking and, really, he didn’t think he could get hard again this fast but he’s already halfway there.

Wade pulls back, and he can feel steam starting to rise from the shower, so Peter assumes that they’re getting in, but instead Wade maneuvers them both until he’s sitting on the edge of the tub, with Peter splayed over his lap, face down. He has him just overbalanced enough that he has to brace himself against the floor with his hands while his legs are up in the air. Wade’s got one arm holding down his thighs, and before he can fully register the new position, the other hand comes down hard across his ass.

“Fuck!” Peter shouts, unable to keep his voice in at the sudden pain. Wade shushes him, and his hand comes down again. Harder, this time. Peter cries out again, but he can’t deny that a shock of arousal flares through him while his skin stings. 

Wade’s hand comes down again, and he feels his cock twitch against the rough skin of his thighs.

“Aww, you like that, baby boy?” Wade croons sweetly. Peter nods feebly. “Come on,” He urges. “Tell me how much you like it, sweetheart. You’ve gotta earn it.” Peter throws his head back with a sob, before dropping it again to plead.

“Please. Please, spank me.” Wade does.

“That’s it, baby, keep going. Tell me how bad you want it.” Peter’s panting now, struggling for breath as the steam rising from the shower begins to fill the tiny bathroom.

“I need it. I need it so bad.” Peter pleads, voice halfway to a moan. “Spank me, please. I need you to. Daddy, please.” Peter feels Wade go still underneath him, and then registers what just came out of his mouth. Mortification fills him, he sucks in a shuddering breath, holding back a sob. What the fuck was that? Before he has the chance to freak out any further, Wade’s hand comes down again, harder than before. Hard enough Peter would swear he feels it in his bones. A shudder rolls through his entire body.

“Keep going.” There’s no missing the way Wade’s voice has dropped into something more dangerous and urgent. Peter knows he's hit a nerve in the best way. “Tell _daddy_ how badly you need it, baby. Show him what a good little boy you can be.” And, fuck. Peter sobs, he knows he’s started rutting into Wade’s lap, but unless he stops him, he’s already past the point of caring.

“Please, please daddy. Please, daddy, I need you to spank me. I need-” He chokes. “I need it to _hurt_.” And it's definitely the right thing to say, because Wade grinds up into him, just a little, and makes sure that it does. Peter sobs again before Wade is once again moving him where he wants him. He ends up sat on Wade’s lap, back pressed against the larger man’s chest, gripping his thighs for support as Wade holds him tight by the biceps.  

He can feel Wade’s cock, hard against his ass, and when Wade bites into his neck his own cock twitches desperately. He’s not sure if he should still be begging, or what he’s even supposed to be begging for, at this point, but Wade doesn’t leave him to wonder for long.

“You beg so pretty, Petey baby, did you know that?” Peter shakes his head feebly as Wade grins against his neck. “No, of course not. No one else has ever touched you like this. Only me.” He growls, pulling back on Peter’s arms hard enough that he feels the ache of it in his shoulders. “Isn’t that right, baby boy?”

“Yes.” Peter pants, nodding frantically. Somewhere in his mind, he’s reminded that encouraging _Deadpool_ to be so possessive is… probably not the smartest decision ever. In fact, it might actually be one of the worst, but he’s already established a pretty solid pattern of throwing caution to the wind, tonight, and he’s got no desire to break from it now. “All yours.” He promises. Wade relaxes his grip and slips one of his hands down to his wrist and onto his hip, Peter moans at the touch as Wade rubs small circles into the crease of his hip.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” Wade asks, pressing wet kisses up his neck as he speaks. “Think you deserve to come, again?” There’s no edge to his voice, but it feels like a trick question. Is he really allowed to say yes?

“I-I hope so.” He stutters out. “I did my best, daddy.” It still makes him tremble with humiliation every time he gets the word out, but it feels so right. And apparently, it was just what the other man needed to hear. He reaches down and wraps a rough fist around Peter’s cock.

“Oh, baby. My baby boy.” He groans into Peter’s neck while the younger boy moans through his ministrations, squirming down against Wade’s cock, overwhelmed by how big it feels against his ass. How big it’s going to feel inside him.

“I can’t wait.” He pants out, knowing that Wade will appreciate what he’s thinking as he grinds down. “I can’t wait to have your cock inside me. Daddy, Wade, filling me up, splitting me open-” A choked off moan ends his babble as Wade’s grip tightens and-fuck. That’s it, he comes all over himself for the second time that night, and slumps back against Wade's chest, boneless, panting and shuddering as the older man milks him through the last of his orgasm.

When he’s done, he only gets a brief moment to catch his breath before Wade is picking him up and placing him in the shower. Making him stand on legs that feel like jelly, he leans back against the wall until Wade joins him and pulls him in close. As Peter wraps his own shaky arms around Wade’s neck, the older man wraps one around his waist, and brings the other one down to cup his ass. He kisses him hard, holding him close enough that Peter’s pulled up onto his toes, and, fuck. They’re lucky Wade is so strong, because Peter just doesn’t have it in him to hold himself up when Wade kisses him like that.

Peter’s never kissed anyone like this. Not even close. Some awkward, exploratory kisses in middle school, but skipping high-school altogether and starting university as young as he did had effectively ended his social life, and with it, all hopes of kissing and the like. Now, though, it’s hard to feel like he missed out. The way Wade kisses him makes him feel consumed, wanted, _owned_. He can’t imagine anyone else ever making him feel this good.

Wade’s hand is slipping into the cleft of his ass, rubbing his thumb over the furrowed ring of muscle, and Peter pushes back into his hand, moaning. He’s still feeling boneless and relaxed all over from his orgasm, and the pressure is just enough that Wade’s thumb catches on his hole and just barely breaches him to the first knuckle.

Peter shudders and moans, burying his face in Wade's neck and breathing hard against his skin, holding tighter as the taller man whispers a steady stream of sweet words into his ear and crooks his thumb to tug at the muscle there. Peter already feels so wrung out, he lets out a sob against the other man’s skin as he toys with him. Eventually, Wade pulls his hand back, to cup Peter's ass again.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, baby boy.” He untangles them and moves away to find the soap, and Peter is overwhelmed with how badly he wants to open his eyes.

“Please, Wade.” He asks quietly when the other man is close to him again, a rough hand steadying his hip. He slips a hand up to Wade's neck to cup the older man’s jaw, carefully brushing his fingers across his cheekbone. “Let me open my eyes. Please?” Wade takes a long time to answer, but Peter doesn’t mind waiting. He keeps up his gentle caress of Wade’s face, leaning in to duck his head and rest his cheek against the other man’s chest as he waits for an answer.

Wade sighs deeply and gives him permission to open his eyes.

For a moment Peter just blinks up at him, readjusting to the light and the hot, humid air of the shower. Wade has a look on his face like he’s waiting for Peter to recoil in disgust, or burst into tears, go running, anything but want him. So, Peter smiles up at him, pulls him close again and kisses him as hard as he can. 

He may not have Wade’s level of expertise, but he’s determined to make Wade feel wanted. Fuck, if Peter can convey even a quarter of his desire for the other man through the kiss, he’s on the right path. For a moment, Wade seems taken aback, not entirely sure he should kiss back, but it passes quickly and he surges forward. Gripping Peter so hard that breathing becomes impossible, kissing him like their lives depend on it. Sloppy and desperate and so, so good. Peter runs his hands all over Wade’s back and neck, touching every part of him he can manage and Wade groans into the kiss, grinding down against Peter’s hip.

Wade finally releases him, breathless, and Peter finds his hand, tugging gently at the soapy washcloth he finds there and looking up at him Wade for permission.

“Please, let me?” Wade grins back at him and he lets the cloth go.

“Don’t miss a spot.” He warns with a wink.

Peter won’t.

He happily takes Wade’s hand in his and begins making his way up his arm with the washcloth. He tries to be gentle, he’s not sure if it hurts, but it looks like it hurts. He trails the cloth with his mouth, placing small kisses all up his arm and around his shoulder, then moving on to repeat the same on the other side. sliding the washcloth up and over each shoulder to run the cloth down his back and sides, only mostly as an excuse to hold the other man close.

He makes his way across Wade’s collar, before moving down his chest. He kisses carefully under Wade’s pectoral before continuing downwards and follows the crease of his hips until he’s eye to eye with his cock. His mouth waters just as bad as before, if not worse. He carefully runs the washcloth over Wade’s thighs, shivering when he moves up the inside of his thighs to gently run the cloth over his sack before moving up his cock, finally getting to press a careful kiss to the base of it before following his hand to the tip with his tongue. He smiles up at Wade, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock, but when he leans forward to mouth him properly Wade pushes back his head and wags a finger at him. 

“As perfect as you look with my cock in your mouth, I’ve got something else planned, baby boy. Just a little longer, keep going.” Peter obeys, though he’s not entirely sure he’s successful in keeping the pout off his face. Wade’s hand stays petting his wet hair as he moves down to wash his calves and feet, leaning down to press kisses inside his ankles. 

Once he’s done, he runs the washcloth up the back of Wade’s legs, blushing once he reaches the other man’s ass. Wade grins down at him as he carefully runs the washcloth over Wade’s skin, dipping his hand into the cleft and reddening uncontrollably while he does so. Still, he doesn’t hesitate. He feels incredibly grateful to be allowed to touch Wade like this. See him like this. Once he’s done, he stares up at Wade, waiting for a sign on what he should do. Wade grins. 

“Open wide, baby boy.”

Peter does so happily, moaning when Wade slides his cock into his mouth like it belongs there. He's pretty sure it hasn’t even been an hour, but he’s missed the weight of it, the taste of it, in his mouth. He doesn’t know how he’s going to survive, after this. If he already misses Wade’s cock after this long, he’s going to have to keep him close. Ask him to fuck his throat every day. Fuck. He’ll get down on his knees and beg, if he has to. He might even prefer to, truth be told.

Wade doesn’t fuck his throat like last time, and Peter wastes no time showing appreciation, regardless. He sucks hard, swirling his tongue as best he can with Wade’s cock stretching his mouth so tight, and trying his hardest to move his head in time with Wade’s shallow thrusts. He’s so concentrated, that he doesn’t notice Wade pouring the shampoo into his hand until his fingers start massaging their way through Peter’s scalp, suds dripping down the back of his neck as they go. Peter moans deeply, looking up at Wade and doing his best to smile around the cock thrusting in and out of his mouth, letting the older man know how grateful he is. 

“Sweet, sweet, baby boy.” Wade croons. “See how nicely daddy takes care of you when you’re good?”

“Mmmhmphh.” Peter manages a garbled affirmative around his cock.

“Mhmm, I’ll bet you do. Daddy’s sweet little cocksucker. So perfect.” Wade moans. He keeps babbling praise that makes Peter’s insides melt, and Peter keep sucking. He lets himself drool, not worried about making a mess, lets himself moan around Wade’s cock. It’s easy to stop thinking, like this. Just get lost in sensation and let himself be used. 

Eventually, Wade is rinsing the shampoo from Peter’s hair and pulling him up by it. He pulls him close roughly to taste his tongue, and Peter moans into it when he realizes that Wade is chasing his own taste from Peter’s mouth. He spends a long moment crushing Peter close before pulling back. 

“Turn around, sweetcheeks.” 

Peter’s pulse leaps as he does what he’s told. The gentleness from moments ago is quickly ebbing away, as Wade scrubs the cloth roughly over his body, moving him as necessary. He makes quick work of it before tossing the washcloth aside and pushing Peter forward and down so he has to brace his hands against the wall. He kicks Peter’s legs wider apart and once again falls to his knees behind him. 

This time, Peter gets no warning before Wade is spreading his cheeks and licking a hot strip right up the middle of him. He moans low and yelps when he feels Wade’s tongue, pointed and surprisingly strong, wiggling against his asshole, slowly breaching the tight ring of muscle.

It’s- fuck. There’s no sensation he can think to compare it to. He reflexively tries to squirm away but Wade pinches his ass, hard, in warning so he forces himself to stay, warring between jerking forward and pressing back into the sensation of Wade’s tongue in his ass.

And. Holy christ. Wade’s tongue is in his ass.

Peter sobs into his forearm, half collapsed against the wall. This is not how he saw his night going. Wade was right. He didn’t know what he was asking for, not really. He wasn’t ready for this. 

He’s trembling, his heart is pounding, and his head is spinning. He knows this should be it for him. He should call it quits, ask Wade to stop, though he’s not entirely sure that he would, in fact he’s almost positive he wouldn’t, and that thought alone should be enough to stop him in his tracks, but it’s not. None of it is.

 A finger joins Wade’s tongue in his ass and Peter wails.

He struggles to keep himself upright as Wade keeps working him open, relentless. When a second finger joins in, that’s when he really starts to feel it.

While Wade’s tongue squirms around inside of him, poking and prodding and making him shiver, his fingers are pulling him apart at the seams. Scissoring inside him, tugging on his hole just enough to make him burn. Searching for something that Peter is both eager and afraid for them to find.

Regardless, he doesn’t have to suffer through much deliberation. Wade’s fingers brush up against something that sends a shockwave of arousal through his groin, and he clenches down hard on instinct, moaning raggedly. He’s not quite able to get hard again just yet, but fuck if his dick doesn’t try its best.

Wade runs his fingers over that bundle of nerves, over and over, pushing against it now and then to make Peter scream. When he finally pulls away, leaving Peter feeling both relieved and horribly, devastatingly empty, he’s slipped down the wall enough that his knees are nearly on the ground.

He collapses onto the floor of the tub, Wade turns to shut off the water before getting out the the tub and crouching next to it to run his hands through Peter’s hair. 

“Was that nice, baby boy? You feel relaxed?”

Peter smiles at him and nods dazedly despite the tears that’ve been spilling from his eyes.

“Good.” Wade growls. “Hold on to that, because the ‘nice’ part’s over, sweetheart.” Wade's hand twists sharply in his wet hair as he speaks. “I’m gonna make you beg, baby boy, and there won’t be anything ‘nice’ about it.” Peter can’t suppress the shiver that runs down his spine, and he barely has the chance to process anything past that because Wade’s clenched fist is dragging him up and out of the bathroom by his hair. His feet slip on the bathroom tiles, but Wade doesn’t let him stop. Just drags him over to the bed and shoves him down onto it.

“If you’ve got lube, now’s the time to grab it. Once I get started, I’m not stopping.” Wade warns, voice low. 

Peter scrambles for his bedside table on limbs rendered uncoordinated by multiple orgasms. He manages to grab the bottle of lube as Wade yanks him back down the bed by his ankles, snatching it from him. 

He squeezes a little onto his fingers, drops the bottle to the side, and leans forward to loom over Peter as he pushes both fingers back inside him.

“You feel my fingers, Petey?”  
“Yeah.” Peter manages.  
“How’s it feel?” Wade demands. Peter flushes, not entirely sure what to say. If there's something specific he's meant to answer with, he doesn't know what it is, so he just does his best.  
“It-it feels. Good. Like it burns, a little, but good.” Wade grins. “Good.”

He pulls his fingers out of Peter’s ass and brings them up to his mouth, not leaving any time for Peter to process his mortification before having them shoved into his mouth. Wade holds his jaw open as he runs his fingers over his tongue.

“Open wide for daddy, baby. You know, you’ve got the most gorgeous mouth around.” The praise manages to override the disgust he’s feeling for himself and Peter whimpers around Wade’s fingers, doing his best to curl his tongue around and in-between them.

“I want you to think about something for me, baby boy. Can you do that?” He asks with a wicked grin. Trepidation pools in his chest, but Peter moans again.

“I want you to think about how my fingers felt inside of you. Think about that little bit of burn. Think how it felt with my tongue inside you, too." Peter nods to show he's doing as Wade asks and the grip on his jaw relaxes enough for him to close his mouth around the fingers and suck. "Then, I want you to think about how big my cock felt in your mouth, compared to how my fingers feel there now.” Peter trembles as he realizes where this line of thought is leading. 

Fuck. 

_Fuck._

It's too easy to forget, through the haze of pleasure, that he is so thoroughly un-fucking-prepared for this. All he’s ever had inside of him are a couple of his own fingers, much more slender than Wade’s, and laughably far from the size of his cock. That’s never going to fit inside him, his panic insists. He’s in way over his head, and there’s no going back. Not now. The fear must show on his face, because Wade’s expression changes. Not into anything soft or comforting, instead twisting into something darker, intimidating. His grin sharpens, eyes boring into Peter's face even more intensely, and Peter is reminded with a sick twist of his gut that this is the same man who routinely seemed to enjoy disemboweling people before they met.

Wade pulls his hand away from Peter’s mouth, using it instead to grip his jaw painfully tight once more, though this time he doesn't try to open it, smearing lube and spit across his cheek.

“Look at me. Listen to me. I’m going to tell you something important. Are you listening?”  
“Yes.” Peter breathes out, voice shaking with want and fear. He's never heard that tone from Wade before, and it's making his nerves light up, trying to get his senses to convince him he should run.

“That’s all the prep you’re getting. I could give you three fingers, if I wanted, or even four. Get you nice and loose, ready for me, but I’m not gonna do that. You know why?” Peter is panting with nerves, now.

“No.” Wade’s grip tightens.

“Wrong answer, sweetheart.” He growls “I think you do know why. I think you know exactly why.” Peter swallows thick, eyes unable to leave Wade’s as he speaks.

“So it’ll hurt.”

“Bingo, baby boy!” Wade pulls back, releasing his jaw and sitting back on his heels, giving Peter a none-too-gentle, congratulatory smack on the cheek as he goes.

He grabs Peter’s legs, spreading them wide and pressing himself up close between them before grabbing the lube to start slathering up his cock as he continues. 

“This way, it’s gonna hurt like hell, and you know what, sweetheart?” He grins down at Peter as he pumps his cock. “That’s what I want. I want to _hurt_ you, baby boy. Though, I’m pretty sure you’ve figured that out, by now. I’m pretty sure that’s why you’re still here.” Wade’s words wash over him and the effect has Peter’s heart jackrabbiting in his chest. “I wanna hurt you so good you’re never gonna look at anyone else ever again.” He confesses, voice dark and desperate. And, yeah, this is it. Peter is essentially letting himself be eaten by the big bad wolf. Begging for it, even. “You’ll never even think about anyone else, once I’m done with you, baby boy. I’m going to fucking _break you_.”

Peter gasps, tears spilling from his eyes once more.

“ _Please_.”

Wade smiles. “Well, that’s the best part, isn’t it, Petey?” He prompts, lining himself up with Peter’s entrance. 

“Yeah-I-” Peter begins to answer shakily, before cutting himself off, too caught up in the trepidation of Wade’s cock pushing between his cheeks, rubbing up against his hole. 

“Go on,” Wade insists, a little mean. “Tell me the best part.”

Peter takes a stuttering breath, choking back a sob.

“I want you to hurt me. I _need_ you to hurt me.” He barely gets the last word out before Wade is slamming into him. No easing in, no time to adjust, just fucking all the way into him, skin smacking together brutally. Peter can’t hold back, then, a sob rips out of his chest as Wade lets himself fall forward, covering Peter. He props himself up just enough to watch the tears falling from Peter’s face as he fucks into him, keeping the pace and force as brutal as he can manage, which happens to be _very_.  

“F-fuck, Wade.” Peter manages to choke out between sobs, unable to keep the words inside. “Oh god, Wade, It hurts.” He’s crying as Wade fucks him, but he’s hard, again, not even sure how he managed it in such a short amount of time.

“Good.” Wade croons. “Tell me more, baby. Tell me how much it hurts.” 

And Peter, fuck. Peter is out of his mind with pain and pleasure all mixing together inside of him to form this overwhelming, heart-throbbing, aching pressure that's spreading throughout his body, pushing all coherent thought from his mind.

“I’m so f-ucking full.” He manages to stutter out. “It burns.” He tells Wade with a choked off sob. Wade groans and leans down to crush their mouths together as he keeps his hands tight on Peter’s hips, pulling them back to meet every vicious thrust of his hips.

Peter clings to Wade’s broad shoulders, moaning and crying up into his mouth as they lick and kiss and bite at each other, sharing heavy breaths. Wade bites his lip hard enough to make him bleed and he clutches even tighter.

“Wade.” Peter cries. “Wade-I feel- _fuck_ \- I feel you. Just you.” And that seems to take Wade’s breath away. His arms slip from his hips to his waist, wrapping around Peter to pull him close enough that every inch of them is touching. Peter can’t quite find a way to put it to words, but there’s something so, incredibly steadying about Wade’s weight bearing down onto him as he digs his feet into into the mattress to fuck up into him with their new position. One of Peter’s hands flies up to brace them against the wall they’re inching towards and he lets himself revel in the sensation of _Wade_.

On top of him, inside of him, sharing his breath. It’s more intimate and intense, than anything Peter’s ever experienced.

He loves it. 

He wants it all. The pain, the pleasure, he’s pretty sure he’s never going to be able to have one without the other, ever again. Not like this. And, shit. Maybe that’s what Wade meant, when he said he was going to break him, because Peter’s feeling pretty fucking broken right now. Who else is ever going to be able to give it to him like this? This perfect balance of pain and pleasure that Peter never even had to ask for, Wade just knew that he needed it, and he made him take it. Who else is he ever going to _want_  after this? Fuck.

He’s still stuck in his thoughts, mind caught up in the sensation, when Deadpool lifts him. Without letting himself slip out of Peter, he pulls him up and pushes him, hard against the wall, pinning him with his weight and lifting Peter’s legs easily to cross behind his neck, continuing to fuck up into him, even deeper now, with Peter’s weight bearing down on his cock and his body folded in half. 

And, shit. Shit. Peter desperately wants to ride him, at least a little, but he can’t get any leverage like this. 

Wade keeps telling him how perfect he is and how good he feels inside, how well he takes his cock, and the praise makes it hard to concentrate on what he wants. Maybe next time. He hopes dearly for a next time. 

“Who owns you, baby boy?” Fuck. Peter can feel his cock beginning to leak as Wade’s question rolls over him. He knows the answer. He knows it beyond a doubt.

“You.” He rasps out.

“Say it again.” Wade demands.

“You!.” He cries, louder. “Fuck, Wade. You.” He gasps. “I’m yours. All yours.”

“No one else is ever gonna touch you like this, baby boy. No one. Not ever.”

Wade pulls out suddenly, drawing a sob from Peter, drags him down the mattress, flips him onto his stomach, and grabs his hips as he slams back into him before Peter even has a chance to get his bearings and- oh, god. Peter chokes on his own voice because this new angle means Wade is ramming into the little bundle of nerves from before with every stroke and all Peter can do is claw at the mattress underneath him. He is officially beyond words. Deadpool has fucked him senseless. 

It’s not long before Peter is once again shaking all over, shivers wracking his body as his orgasm sweeps through him. This one is more painful than the last two, his body not used to be so wrung out and desperately exhausted.

When he comes down from the high of orgasm, Wade is draped over Peter’s lax body, one arm wrapped around his chest and the other in his hair as he curses into his neck, thrusts becoming increasingly erratic. Peter summons the last of his energy to reach a hand up behind him, holding the back of Wade’s neck as he pushes his hips back and up to arch up into Wade’s hips and squeeze down as hard as he can. 

Wade shouts, fingers digging into Peter’s side so hard that he’s pretty sure the other man's ragged nails have drawn blood. His hips stutter and, fuck, Peter can actually feel him come inside of him. Warm and thick and wet. He stays there as he comes down, rutting out the last of his orgasm inside of Peter until he stills, panting into his neck, dead weight on his back. 

After a long moment, he rolls to the side and drags Peter onto his side and against his chest, Peter tucks himself close, tangling their legs together, and they kiss until it feels like he’s drowning in it.

Peter’s pretty sure he’s never felt bliss like this before, and judging by the way Wade’s hands are trailing reverently up and down his back, while he refuses to part even an inch, he’s not the only one. For the first time in years, Peter’s mind is so blissfully blank that he doesn’t even notice himself slipping into unconsciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, dirtybirds, I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it!
> 
> You can find me here or [on tumblr](https://dirtybirdie.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/dirtbirdie). I'm pretty new to all of this, but I'd be into requests if anyone has any! Can't guarantee I'll fill everything, but I'll be happy to try most :)
> 
> _P.S. this isn't beta read, so feel free to point out any errors, also, if anyone happens to know how to get an indent at the beginning of a paragraph to stick around, I would be eternally grateful as I cannot figure it out to save my life._


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